Lost Tales of Asgard
by Warrior-Maid-of-the-Shadows
Summary: A series of deleted scenes and one-shots from the Renascentia Trilogy. If you haven't read the Trilogy, I suggest you do so before reading these.
1. Snow

_**Hi everyone! So, this is going to be just a collection of one-shots and deleted scenes from the Renascentia Trilogy that I need to get out of my head. They won't be in any particular order, but I'll explain when each passage took place so you know what's going on. I'm rating it K for now as there's nothing in this part that has anything suggestive or inappropriate but it will change to T eventually. If you haven't read the Trilogy, I suggest you skim through it just to get a good idea of what's going on. It doesn't have a cover yet, as I'm sure you've noticed, but I'll get one in time.**_

_**This one takes place before HeartTorn but after Loki's awakening. Just a short drabble on Freyja and Loki's friendship and topics they spoke about during their nights on the Bifrost. As per usual, I hope you all enjoy my ramblings. Thanks to all.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not, nor have I ever, owned Marvel, Thor, or the Avengers.**_

* * *

When Loki was nearly ten and Freyja had just turned eight, the two had made a habit of sneaking out of the palace to talk late into the night on the Bifrost. After the first couple times that Heimdall had alerted the All-Father of their whereabouts, Freyja taught Loki a spell that would shroud them from the Gatekeeper's senses. It was late one night when the two found themselves out on the Bifrost whispering about places Loki had gone with his family.

"Do you never travel with your family?" he asked, leaning his head on his hand to see her.

"When Father was required to conduct business elsewhere, we were not allowed to accompany him," she answered. "But in four years' time, I will have to begin our coming-of-age ceremony."

"That is when you travel to four of the Realms, correct?"

"Five, actually, but I will only travel to four as I have already spent time here," she explained. "I suppose my first stop will be Jotunheim."

"Why is it your people travel to Jotunheim?" he asked, wrinkling his nose at the thought of visiting Frost Giants.

"It is important to learn as much as we can about the Realms of our cosmos. Jotunheim is a part of the Nine Realms, whether the fact is approved of or not."

He nodded before another question popped into his head, "Why did you come to live here?"

He saw the sadness in her blue eyes, eyes that he had once marveled at for their brilliant hue, and wondered if he had asked the wrong question.

"It is difficult to explain."

"Can you attempt to?"

With a sigh, she looked up at the stars and began, "Due to the fact that my people rely so heavily on our auric energy, we tend to be a bit more acute to the auric state of those around us. It is not the same as the bond we share, though. We cannot tell exactly what those around us feel, simply stronger emotions that are naturally projected into the aura.

"When I was in Vanaheim, I always felt…slightly unaccepted. I am unsure how to word it correctly but I could tell my people did not believe I belonged completely. I was more prone to emotions than they were, something my father strived to snuff out. After the years of undergoing his…teachings, I could no longer withstand it. I snuck aboard the nearest flight to Asgard with only a few of my belongings and asked Odin if I may stay."

"What is it like in Vanaheim?"

A bittersweet smile crossed her lips, causing her to look almost wistful, "It is beyond imagination. I am bound by oath not to show you my memories of it, but words are not restricted to me. Simply the colors of Vanaheim cause Asgard to seem muted in comparison. On summer days-"

"Summer?" he asked, confused.

"Like Midgard, we experience what are called 'seasons'. Asgard spends its time in perpetual summer, while Jotunheim is cloaked in an eternal winter and Alfheim only experiences spring. In Vanaheim, we experience all four."

"But you have only named three," he pointed out.

"The final season would be autumn."

He regarded her curiously, "What makes this autumn any different from the rest?"

"Well, autumn is when the days begin to grow shorter, causing there to be less sunlight for the plants. The leaves of certain trees will often begin to change color at that time, turning different hues of gold, orange, brown, and peach."

"The leaves of your trees change color?" he asked, shocked at the idea.

"And when winter arrives, the trees that change lose their leaves altogether."

"Why?"

"It is to preserve energy," she said, laughing at his appalled tone.

"Colorful leaves during the autumn and barren trees during the winter," he mused. "Is that all that changes?"

"It also snows during the winter, as the temperature drops."

"I've heard of snow. Some of the warriors say it is white and bites as it touches you."

She smiled again, "Snow is not alive, it is simply cold. I could show you, if you want to see for yourself."

"You can create snow?"

"Magic makes almost anything possible. The only thing it cannot do is affect time."

"Will you show me?"

"_Caligo hiemo_," she whispered, waving her hand before her.

Loki watched in awe as little white specks floated down upon them, chilling the air. Sitting up to get a better look, he held out his hand to catch a few in his hand. They lasted a mere five seconds before melting in his palm. They did not, however, feel cold to him. Despite their short existence, he peered at the odd shapes they created.

"Are these patterns natural or did you create them?"

"The designs occur naturally and no two are the same," she answered, blinking away a few flurries that dotted her eyelashes. "Sometimes, it will snow until it reaches your knees."

"Truly?" he asked, eye wide.

"Of course. But when spring returns, the snow melts and does not return until the year has passed."

"How long does it last?"

She sat up, looking at him with a grin, "Winter lasts for three months but it only snows throughout Whitewind and half of Frostwind."

"There are twelve months in Vanaheim, right?"

She nodded, "Meltbloom, Lifebloom, Heatbloom, Greensun, Goldsun, Felledsun, Emberleaf, Deadleaf, Danceleaf, Runwind, Whitewind and Frostwind. You can always remember the season by the ending of the month."

The snow still continued as Loki thought about all she was telling him.

"What occurs during spring?"

"The snow melts, the animals awaken from their winter slumbers and the world explodes with life once more."

"It must be beautiful there."

"It is," she answered sadly.

He looked at her once more, "Do you miss it?"

She nodded, "I do."

"Do you ever wish you could return?"

"I always have the ability to turn back and return to Vanaheim," she started, causing him to wonder if she ever would. "But what good would that bring? We only progress in life by moving forward, not back."

He internally sighed in relief at her answer, glad she was not planning to leave anytime soon, "Are you happy here? In Asgard?"

She turned to meet his gaze, smiling as she did, "I am happier here than I have ever been."

"I'm glad."

And for ten minutes, they sat in silence as the flurries gathered around them on the crystalline surface of the Rainbow Bridge. After simply enjoying each other's company for a time, Freyja suggested they return to the palace. Loki agreed and the two began their journey back to their chambers.

When the sun rose once more, a bemused Heimdall found that a section of the Bifrost was covered in snow flurries reaching just above his knees. The mass of white extended the width of the bridge but did not fall over into the sea below. Odin was perplexed and slightly irate at the mystery behind the occurrence, but deemed it not worth looking into. Loki, however, congratulated Freyja on the prank and laughed about how many of the guards believed it to be Frost Giants. Freyja kept silent at his praise, unsure whether or not to tell him it was the result of her forgetting to void the spell.

In the end, she decided he was much more amused under the impression that she had meant for it to happen. His mirth made her happy, and she didn't want to destroy the mood.


	2. Asphyxiating in Darkness

_**So, here's another little ficlet I've created. This basically is my idea of what happened to Loki between Thor and Avengers. I always thought Loki seemed a bit bipolar during Avengers, jumping back and forth enough to give me mental whiplash. Also, Loki's first appearance in the movie confused me. He seemed tired, starved, and he tripped a couple types for no apparent reason. The more I thought about it, the more he seemed to be suffering from heat exhaustion. I mean, think about it: he has sunken-in eyes, extreme sweating, pale skin, fatigue and dizziness. But then, how do you torture a Frost Giant if not with heat? Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here it is.**_

_**Song of the Chapter: Lost ~ Within Temptation**_

_**The lyrics just match up well.**_

* * *

Time had no meaning. Pain had become as constant as air and reality had lost its meaning. Loki couldn't say how he had come to the miserable little planet, if it could be called that. He remembered hanging off the Bifrost, his pleading to Odin, and Odin's rejected. He could remember every detail of when he let go of Gungnir, could see Thor's face as his grip loosened. Everything beyond that was a blur.

He was on his knees, head hanging in defeat, as he hands were drawn above his head by iron manacles hanging from the ceiling. He was stripped down to only his trousers, blood drying in little streams across his skin. If he had been given anything more than watered down broth and a stale slice of bread, he might be sick. His body would shudder under the spasms of pain as his body protested to the torment, but nothing more.

Whoever held him captive knew what he was, his tortures were specifically crafted for him. While Loki did not react to the cold, the same could not be said for heat. It was always exceptionally hot within the stone room, burning his naturally low body temperature. It was too much. The hot irons, the burning coals, the occasional waterboarding, the starvation, the whips; it all drove him to the brink of insanity.

When the door slid open, he automatically flinched away from the light. Light meant pain, meant someone coming for him. He attempted to turn his head away as the person reached for him, willing them to go away. Instead of unlatching the shackles from his arms, thin fingers gently caressed his face.

"Loki?"

He stiffened at the familiar voice, knowing it wasn't possible. He looked up to see the familiar warmth of Freyja's bright blue eyes. Her lips were parted in surprise, hair disheveled as if she had been fighting.

"Freyja?"

"It's alright," she said, embracing him carefully. "I've come for you."

"No," he said as she began to break the chains with magic. "You are dead. This is not real."

"No, Loki. I never died. I've come for you, but you must believe me. Come. We don't have much time."

She broke the final chain, pulling him up as he fell forward.

"Can you walk?" she demanded.

He nodded, attempting to walk without her support. She sighed, wrapping an arm around him to help.

"I am so sorry," she whispered as they walked across the room. "I never thought Thanos would find you?"

"This was not your fault," he said hoarsely.

"Do not attempt to speak," she said softly. "We must get out, and then we can discuss this. I never meant for this to happen. I am truly sorry."

"Such sentiment," a deep voice chuckled.

Both looked up in horror as Thanos suddenly appeared in the doorway before them. Before Freyja or Loki could act, he rushed forward and drove a knife through her heart. Loki fell to his knees as she crumpled forward. He cradled her head as he watched her eyes go blank. Thanos grinned over them, but Loki paid no mind. He gazed at her shocked face as the white coils of her aura dissipated – white?

Brushing back the hair from her face, he looked for the slight indention on the curve of her ear, the one thing that marked her appearance as a spell. This Freyja did not have it. Loki suddenly began to laugh, a slightly sardonic laugh that rang through the room.

"You think me a fool, Thanos?" he demanded, using the name the false Freyja had said. "Do you truly believe I cannot tell the difference between my lost love and this copy?"

A thick, purple-skinned hand clamped around his neck, cutting off his laughter, "Then let us see just how much more you can take, false or not."

* * *

And so it was. There were no more physical torments. Loki could not tell how many days passed, but each one brought a new series of illusions to haunt him. He watched Thanos kill copies of Freyja slowly, prying every scream he could from whatever poor souls he was using. Then, it was Thor killing Freyja. No, it was Odin. He watched as the false Freyja fought several others, always dying at their hands.

The last few he watched were of himself. They would embrace, kiss, whisper to each other. In the end, the false version of himself would kill her. It was always the same, she was either suffocated or stabbed, but he found the last were the worst. The look of betrayal that would cross the false-Freyja's face tore at his heart no matter how many times he told himself it was not true.

The second to last did not involve death, but drove Loki to fury. It was of a false Thor and Freyja. Thor asked her what she felt for Loki, to which she replied that it didn't matter. They kissed, caressed and entwined themselves with the other. She said that she always loved Thor, and he smiled in return. Loki laughed bitterly at the show, forcing down the envy and anger that threatened to smother him.

The final one was the cruelest, though. It was of himself and Freyja. They were kissing, but it was not the same as the illusion of her and Thor. It was a slow kiss, simply the two enjoying the company. The false Loki's skin slowly turned blue, his eyes transforming to the Jotun red they truly were.

"This does not trouble you?" the false-him asked.

She brushed the back of her fingers across his face, "No. I would have you any way you are."

He smiled, "Good."

She gasped as a knife slid skillfully between her ribs, knees buckling. The false Loki held her, bringing her close so that his lips brushed against her ear.

"This is what becomes of you when you love a monster," he hissed.

"A monster," Loki repeated, flinching away from the vision.

He could still hear the false-Loki's chuckles through his closed eyes, the look of devastation on Freyja's face burned into the back of his eyelids. A tear slid down his face against will. It burned more than the others, as it was true.

The door slid open and when he opened his eyes, only Thanos remained in the room.

"I ask once more," the Titan said. "Will you or will you not fight for this cause? No other Realm will have you, but I offer a chance at acceptance. Conquer Midgard, and the mortals will fear you, they will revere you, they will worship you."

Loki hesitated, thinking the words through.

"Think, Jotun. You could remold the world to your creating. Banish all that you loathe and build all that you dream. You could transform it into all you have ever wanted. All I ask in return is the human power source, the Tesseract."

"I…accept your most gracious offer."

Thanos grinned, "I knew you would see my argument. In the end, you will always kneel, always yield to me."

Loki recoiled slightly as the Titan approached, removing the shackles. He stood on shaky legs, fatigued from the lack of food and overheating. Thanos did not wait for him, leaving Loki to stumble after him and try not to fall into unconsciousness. They walked down the barren hall, turning into another room. In it, a single pedestal holding an ornate gold and silver scepter with blue gem between the blades. Much to his surprise, it was the same shade of unnatural blue as Freyja's and Thanos's eyes. He almost thought he had seen something similar to it before, but could not remember.

"Your task is simple, _Prince_," Thanos said, picking up the scepter. "You will lead the army I provide you with into battle against the mortals. You will force them into submission and take the throne."

"What of their freedom?" he asked, remembering that it was Freyja's most treasured possession.

"Freedom," he scoffed. "There is no such thing. We are all prisoners of fate, forced into its will. Freedom is life's great lie."

He held out the scepter to Loki, "Will you drown in attempt to fight fate, or will you submit to its will?"

With only a second's hesitation, Loki's fingers closed around the scepter. A gasp fell from his lips as something unknown filled his mind. He saw worlds, stars, glyphs, a myriad of information, beliefs, and theories that he had never known. He saw ways the Jotun frostbite could heal, how travel between realms was not the limit but rather alternate dimensions, he saw the possibility of true peace. The more he saw, the less he struggled against the presence in his mind.

Thanos smiled as the Prince's eyes turned from green to the unnatural blue of the Tesseract, satisfied in his work. Loki turned his gaze from the scepter in his hand to Thanos, no longer thinking of what could go wrong. In his mind, he saw a perfect kingdom, one he would create from the ashes of Midgard.

"When do I start?"


	3. War of Pranks: Part 1

_**Hi everyone! Yes, this one is shorter and let me apologize. I'm in the midst of moving and wrote this while taking a break. Also, the only Internet I can get is on my phone, so that didn't help the length. So this one takes place before HeartTorn when Loki's about fifteen. You will hear the rest of what happens between Loki and Angrboda, but for now, enjoy part one. I promise the next short will show a part of Freyja's life in Vanaheim.**_

_**Also, thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl for the inspiration behind this short.**_

* * *

He should have seen it coming. Had he been paying attention, Loki would not have been splattered in water until his clothes stuck to him like a second skin. He had been reading in the corner while his brother, Sif, Fandral and Hogun sparred in the field when the phenomenon occurred. One moment, he was attempting to commit a rather troublesome spell to memory and the next, he was dripping wet in his own personal puddle.

He leapt to his feet, sputtering and furious as a cat that had fallen into the river. A gentle laugh caused his attention to snap towards a young woman sitting on top of the wall surrounding the courtyard. Perched quiet comfortably on the wall sat a girl about his age with a wild mane of blonde hair and eyes as gray as storm clouds.

"Think of that as my retribution, Odinson," she laughed before leaping off the wall.

As he watched her in surprise, he realized he had seen her before. Thor ran over to watch, the others following to see what was going on.

"Who was that?" Thor asked.

"Angrboda," Loki answered. "A girl in my magic class."

"What was she seeking retribution for?" Fandral said, gazing in the direction the girl had left with a look of astonishment.

"I haven't the slightest," he lied, knowing full well it was for his defeating her during one of the mock duels in class.

As he walked away, clutching the ruined book, he knew he would seek his own revenge for his humiliation. No one pranked him and got away with it. He was known to the people as the Prince of Mischief for a reason, and he was going to make sure the girl knew why.

* * *

Loki watched from the sanctity of a large tree as Angrboda walked up the long dirt pathway to the cottage she and her mother lived in. From within the thick green foliage, he had a perfect view of both her bedroom and her walk up the road. As she walked through the door, he shifted his position on the branch so that he could see her room more clearly.

Her voice rang through the house, muffled and incoherent through the walls. A grin crept across his lips as the door slid open. For a minute, Angrboda stared into her room with a look of confusion on her face. He supposed he didn't blame her as he would have been just as surprised had he come home to find all of his furniture stuck to the ceiling.

It had been a surprisingly simple spell, one which Freyja had provided in her letter when he asked her. She had assumed his victim was Thor and hasn't protested about the ordeal. In fact, she had wished him luck, told him tips on how to cause the spell to be most effective, and asked that he reply with how Thor reacted.

He watched with a soft laugh as she attempted to use incantations to retrieve her belongings, cursed angrily when she failed, and attempted to pull down the furniture she could reach by force. Snapping his fingers, a glowing triquetra of green smoke appeared in her room. She took a second to examine the projection before looking straight at him.

He leapt from the tree and took off back towards the palace, vowing to tell Freyja that "Thor's" expression had been priceless.

* * *

Two days later, Loki woke up to find that his hair had turned a most in unappealing shade of carnation pink. The pale hue caused his natural pallor to look a sickly white. After finding that his knowledge of magic didn't involve reverting hair colors to their natural state, he smiled in amusement. It had taken long enough, but he had finally found a competent adversary with a decent sense of humor.

"And so the war begins," he said to himself, going to his armoire in search of a hat.


	4. Never Forget

_**As promised: a chapter from Freyja's childhood in Vanaheim. I originally had this as a memory in HT (HeartTorn), but had to cut it out because it just didn't work in the story. Of course, to put it here, I had to modify the ending a bit. It will tie in to HF (HeartFrost) but I can't tell you how yet. Anyway, I'd say Freyja and Freyr are about six here and this is a little before she ran to Asgard but due to their long life spans, they've been six for a little while now. As always, I hope you all enjoy.**_

* * *

The streets of the royal city of Vanaheim was bustling with people, all in their true forms, as a man with a strangely lined face and a young girl made their way through the crowds. Though they seemed cool and collected on the surface, the girl was excited beyond words over what was about to occur.

"What will you teach me first, Father?" she asked, voice barely containing her anticipation. "Transmutation? Concealment? Animation?"

"You are allowing your emotions to dictate you. What have I told you on this?" he answered coolly.

"Emotions are dangerous and must be monitored under all circumstances," she sighed, happiness waning. "If we are to keep our emotions from controlling us, we must control them."

"Very good, Freyja. You are an exceptionally bright girl, you simply need to learn to apply yourself correctly."

"But, Father, controlling emotions only warrants keeping them in check rather than smothering them entirely, does it not?"

"We have had this discussion many times. Our emotions are not the same as the others' of the Realms. Compared to us, their emotions are shallow and fickle. When not entirely contained, the consequences are devastating. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Father."

He nodded in acceptance, "And as for your prior query, we will be learning the theory behind mental manipulation, or magic as the other races call it. A pupil must learn the information before he or she can apply it."

She stifled a sigh of disappointment, not expecting her first lesson to simply consist of information on magic. The other children would always share stories on what they had learned most recently. Despite her being disheartened at what she would learn that day, she decided to make a goal out of remembering everything he said. After all, the sooner she demonstrated her understanding of the lesson, the sooner she could start to actually practice magic.

They soon reached a small temple made specifically for students of the mental arts. It was empty, which was unusual but expected as the solitude was due to the two new occupants. Standing in the center of the room, Freyja clasped her hands behind her back as she waited for her father to begin. He came to stand before her, face as blank as a fresh roll of parchment, and began.

"It is important to understand that sorcery is not a mysterious force, but an artistic science. It is an extension of the mind and soul. The other races do not understand it as they cannot accomplish it. It is beyond their reach and so it is incomprehensible in their eyes. Do you know why this is?"

"Perhaps it is an adaption which is rendered unnecessary in the other Realms?"

"A scholarly answer, but wrong, nonetheless. It is because when the Wise One created us at the dawn of time, He wished for us to share a fraction of His divinity. And so He allowed the part of Himself within all of us to integrate with the rest of our mind until it was ingrained into out very genetic code. Though the other races have the capability to wield magic, they are unable to awaken said portion of their mind. And so they react to magic differently. Do you know what this response is?"

"Fear," she said softly.

"Fear," he repeated. "Because we are different from them, they fear us. They do not trust us completely and cannot accept us in our entirety."

"But King Odin of Asgard is married to a Vanir. Queen Frigga was born and raised within Vanaheim's borders."

"That does not mean he accepts her completely. Since moving to Asgard, Queen Frigga has dismissed her culture and abstained from using magic unless it is at her husband's request. She is more Æsir than Vanir now."

"Is this the way with all Æsir-Vanir marriages?"

"Yes, now tell me what the other races fear most out of our capabilities."

"Our ability to enter the minds of others?"

"Good, though incomplete. They fear our ability to rend their mind apart from within. It is an irrational fear, as they feel nothing of the sort towards the warrior who attempts to bludgeon them. Despite the higher chance of an enemy braining them, they direct their anxieties towards us. And so we must never enter the mind of another, to prove that there is nothing to be afraid of."

"Is it not common for husband and wife to open their minds to each other on occasion?"

"Such an occurrence is only common with Vanir unions, not Æsir-Vanir couples. It is an act of intimacy and is expected of those with close bonds. A mother and child may do such to share thoughts or experiences, close friends may do so to express a wordless idea, but it is unacceptable under any other circumstances."

"What if it is necessary?"

"And when do you propose necessity evokes acceptance?"

She shrugged, "Perhaps there has been a murder and the witness cannot be believed. Or mayhap to gouge the tension whilst at a diplomatic conference. Maybe someone is needed to do something but is too nervous and therefore must be coaxed into the act. There are many-"

She choked on her words as a sharp pain lanced through her head, causing her to feel as if someone was attempting to drive a sword through her skull. Her knees buckled and her hands clawed at her scalp as she tried to rid herself of the sensation of being torn apart. She could vaguely feel the presence of another in her mind attempting to force its will upon her. The more she resisted the insistent tugging, the more it seared her mind. It was as if someone had set her mind alight.

"Is this truly acceptable?" her father demanded. "Does necessity truly deem this suitable? Is this a benevolent use?"

"Stop!" she yelled as a new wave of agony washed over her. "Father, please!"

"What possessed you to believe this is in any way tolerable? What savage thought provoked it?"

She screamed at the pain, throwing her head back as the cry echoed through the empty metal room. Hot agony ripped through her, a beast to which she way prey. It reverberated through every bone and drove through every muscle. Then, without warning, it and the presence vanished. She slumped forward on her hands and knees, panting to catch her breath.

As her muscles relaxed and her heart rate began to slow, she looked up cautiously through her disheveled hair. Her father watched her apathetically with silver eyes as cold as the winter storms. She saw nothing in his eyes, neither condemnation nor forgiveness, and it frightened her beyond belief. She wanted a sign that she was forgiven, that her lapse in judgment was an honest mistake. She received none. Unable to withstand such a gaze, she leapt to her feet and fled the building. He didn't follow, but she could feel the staring of his empty eyes on her until she was gone from his sight.

She ran through the streets, pushing past people as she sought escape from the silver gaze. She never looked back as she raced towards the palace. Throwing the doors open, she ignored the concerned gazes and questions directed her way by the many servants and councilmen. When she reached her chambers, she locked the door and propped her desk in front of it.

Losing the remainder of her strength, she fell to the floor. She clasped her hands together, bowing her head over them, as she choked out prayers for forgiveness, redemption, and peace. The words were broken by her sobs, but she hoped the Wise One would understand her incoherency. The last thing she asked for was her father's happiness. She wrapped her arms around her knees as she finished, crying into her knees at her mistake. She didn't leave her rooms for the remainder of the afternoon.

* * *

"Freyja?" Freyr called, knocking on the door. "You did not come to supper, so I thought I might bring it to you."

The doorknob rattled as he attempted to enter, "Are you feeling unwell? Will you allow me in, sister?"

Freyja stood up shakily, pushed aside the desk, and opened the door. Her eyes were glassy and ringed by dark circles from crying. As soon as he recognized her expression, he closed and locked the door quickly behind him.

"What is the matter, Freyja?" he asked, placing the silver tray on her desk. "What troubles you?"

"Father loathes me," she whispered.

"Why would you think that?"

"Do not pretend to not have seen it, Freyr. You have heard how he speaks to me, how he reacts towards my actions and thoughts. When he speaks to you, you can hear the faint pride. He becomes hollow when he speaks to me."

"That is simply the way Father is. He has no reason to hate you."

"But he does," she protested. "You were the first-born, but it was I who caused Mother's death. She was healthy until I was born. My illness caused her death. To worsen my crimes, the healers were able to save me but not Mother. When Father looks at me, he sees nothing but the death of his wife. I do not blame him for his hate, for I would feel the same."

"Mother's death was not your fault. And it could not be helped that the healers could do nothing for her. Would it not have been worse if he lost you, as well?"

She shook her head, "He cares not for me. He would not mind in the least if I took my own life. I could throw myself off a cliff and he would find neither grief nor remorse for me."

Freyja hugged his sister tightly, frightened by her indifference towards the matter of her own death, "But I would. I would ignore Father's wishes and feel guilt for you. I would grieve for years, and blame myself for your unhappiness. Father may be indifferent, but I care, Freyja. Would you truly leave me in this world alone with only remorse and grief as companions?"

She hugged him back, holding onto the one person she knew cared for her without orders, "Forgive me. That was thoughtless. You would never leave me simply because you saw no redemption for yourself. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course," he whispered. "I love you, sister. Never forget that."

And she never did. She held onto it with all of her strength, unaware of just how it would wound her in the future.


	5. Simply Complicated: Part 1

_**I don't know why I wrote this exactly. I wanted something short, simple and sweet and this is what happened. It clears up one of the myths, but I can't promise a happy ending. It will be bittersweet at most. I hope you all enjoy.**_

* * *

It had begun as a search for truth; nothing more, nothing less. It was a simple quest to find his ancestry. He had come to her in hopes that she could aid him, and she had. And yet, when it had ended, she could not let him go. She thought she had finally found what she had been searching for.

His name was Hildisvini, son of Sialfin. He was a simple young man, living off of his relatively small farm. Hay and dairy was what he made his sparse profit from. There had never been a more honest man, but that was the problem. He was mortal. She was not.

She had come across him on her travels through Midgard when she was just over seventeen. He was a handsome man with long ginger hair and bright blue-green eyes that reminded her of a muted shade of the Vanaheim seas. She found him praying before an altar and recognized her name. Unable to resist, she kneeled down before him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Was there something you wished to ask of me?"

He looked up in surprise, "Lady Freyja?"

She nodded, "What is it you seek?"

He bowed quickly, keeping his eyes downcast, "I am but a humble servant to your majesty, but I plead that you may aid me in my troubles."

She angled his face up with two fingers under his chin, "You have no need to bow. All I ask of you is to give me the honor of looking at whom I speak with. Please state your wishes and I shall determine whether I can help or not."

"My mother lies gravely ill and often longs to see my father once more before passing on. You see, he was a sailor and one day, he did not return. We believe that he was stranded I wish to seek him out so that her wishes do not go unfulfilled."

"Would it not be more apt to ask me to heal your mother?"

"It would, my lady, but it is not what she wants. She is world-weary and has no qualms with greeting death. All she asks is to see my father one last time. I have little to offer you in return, but I beg of your assistance."

She examined him carefully, unsure what to make of his question. His sea-glass eyes pleaded silently as she tried to make sense of what the endeavor would entail. Slowly, she nodded. She watched as his face lit up, a smile threatening to split his face.

"Thank you, Lady Princess! You may rest assured that I will repay you for your aid, even if I must sell my farm to do so."

"Now, keep your wits," she laughed. "I will not ask you of something of such a scope."

"But is this not a request of great proportions that demands payment?" he asked, confused once more.

She took his hands, pulling him up so that they stood before each other, "I ask nothing of you. It would be my pleasure to aid you in this."

"B-but, my Lady, it would be…it would be…disgraceful, to not return the favor."

"Do not worry over it," she reassured. "Would you mind if I met your mother?"

"Not at all," he said quickly. "It is just over the hill."

She nodded, following behind him as he led her up the green hills. He had apparently forgotten he still had her hand in his, but he remembered within a few seconds. He let go quickly as if he had been burned, looking horrified at his actions.

"I beg your pardon, Lady. I was far too lost in my own relief," he said.

"There is nothing to forgive," she answered kindly. "And do call me Freyja. What may I call you by?"

He gave a low bow, hair nearly touching the grass, "Hildisvini, La- Freyja."

"And your mother, if you do not mind my prying."

"Asvor," he replied. "I do not mind your questions. The queries of a beautiful woman such as yourself deserve to be answer."

He froze once more, "I am sorry, Freyja. I know not what the matter with me is."

"I do not mind. And I thank you for your kind words."

He shook his head, "You are far from what I expected, if you do not mind my saying."

"I receive many words of the like."

He gave her a questioning glance, "Is it not presumptuous to think to know someone before truly becoming acquainted?"

"Would that not make you presumptuous?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

He paused before smiling and laughing heartily, "I suppose it would. I hope you forgive me for it."

"You ask for me to forgive many things."

"I have many things to ask forgiveness for. I am nothing more than a mortal."

"There is no fault in being mortal."

"We can never hope to reach your divinity," he said wistfully.

"Humanity in itself can be divine."

"I am uncertain what you mean," he replied before pointing down into the plain below. "There it is. It may not be much, but it is home."

She looked at the little cottage in the center of tilled fields and oxen pastures, "It is quite a charming place."

He shrugged, "You need not be kind on my account. It must seem meager compared to the castle you make your home in."

"Small or not, it is very quaint. I would be satisfied with such a lovely estate."

They walked down the hill quickly, allowing Freyja to examine the small but beautiful farm. She also thought of the quest she had committed herself to.

"You are aware that this journey may take many months?"

He sighed, "It is what I fear most, that the search will take far too long. Though I wish to bring my father back, I would loathe allowing Mother to die without me by her side."

She put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to stop, "If it helps, I swear to do everything within my power to help you find your father before your mother passes on."

He nodded slowly, eyes glassy, "Thank you. It means much to me."

She smiled, "Let us hope your father is an easy man to find. Have you checked the local taverns to see if he simply did not lose himself in drink?"

He laughed once more, smile blinding, "If that be the case, I shall pledge myself to you and tell the story for all to hear."

"What a perplexing tale it would be."


	6. Runaway

_**Think of this as an apology of sorts for my inability to regain my files. This takes place right before Freyja first sees Asgard.**_

_**Song of the Chapter: Runaway ~ Bon Jovi**_

* * *

Freyja pulled the strap of her bag further up her shoulder, waiting for the guards to pass. It was only a few hours until dawn, but the city was almost empty. She knew she had to board the next airship if she was ever to leave Vanaheim. Her father was sound asleep in his chambers, as was her brother. She knew she would miss Freyr, but she could no longer make due with her life in her Realm. She had left him an apology note, but no way to find her. If he had that knowledge, her father would use it to find her. She prayed he would understand.

As the guards turned the corner, Freyja dropped down the rope made of her tied sheets. It was a stroke of good luck that she didn't live in the chambers above the second floor. She ran through the empty streets, wearing a face that wasn't her's to avoid recognition. A simple spell would cause people to avoid looking at her eyes, one thing that would give her away. In the trousers, tunic and boots she had taken from Freyr's room, she looked like a young boy. All in all, she knew she wouldn't be caught.

As she reached the launch bay, she wondered if she was doing the logical thing. But the more she thought about staying, the more she thought of his cold stares and thoughtless words. He could say the most hurtful things without an ounce of any emotion in his voice. She wasn't strong enough to shoulder his empathy any longer. In the back of her mind, she knew she was a coward.

Shaking her head to dispel the thoughts, she focused on the airship across the bay destined for Midgard. She guessed the Realm of mortals would be the most difficult place to find her. Though it wouldn't be easy to adjust, she believed it couldn't be too challenging. After all, the humans had little trouble surviving.

It was then that she noticed the airship closest to her was boarding. Judging from the forms the Vanir entering it had taken, it was Asgard bound. She had never been to the home of the Aesir, never seen one of its people for herself. She had seen drawings, memories and her own people taking their form, but they seemed impossibly varied. All the Vanir shared the same dark skin, silver eyes, angular figures, and black hair, making her the outcast. She was different; a different shade of skin, different colored eyes, softer features, and iridescent hair.

If she truly thought about it, she believed it was the source of her father's empathy. He was king, and therefore should have as few flaws as possible. And yet he had sired a strange daughter who couldn't control her emotions, couldn't blend in, and was born sickly. She was no longer ill, but she could do nothing about the former two.

But the Aesir were different. They had as many appearances as there were colors. There were few questioning gazes when they were born different. They lived with their emotions, reveled in them. They didn't hold grudges over things that could not be controlled. They lived the easy life.

On a split-second decision, Freyja leapt from the shadows and joined the group. She handed the pilot a few silver coins as she passed through the door and took a window seat in the back. As she watched the other passengers enter, she began to alter her form. She made her features a bit softer, her skin a pale ivory, her hair curling wildly like smoke in the wind. When she saw a man with freckles across his nose, she found the idea charming and used it herself.

Hair color gave her pause as she didn't truly want the golden honey that seemed to be favored. Glancing out the window in thought, she spotted a large fish in the sea around them. As the sun danced against his red scales, the color seemed to fracture into several hues and dance around under the surface. She decided as the ship rose from the water, her hair turning crimson as they rose into the sky.

She watched with growing guilt as the city began to fade into the distance. The sun was just beginning to rise and she knew Freyr would soon find her note. She wondered how he would respond and if he would be alright under their father's empathy. But, then again, he had always seemed more forgiving towards Freyr. And it was the difference that burned so much. She loved her brother dearly, but it hurt to know he had something she did not.

Freyja continued to gaze out the window as the cerulean sky fell away to the inky black of the cosmos that separated the Realms. Allowing her mind to wander, she began to hum the tune of a song she knew. Soon, she found herself singing the words under her breath.

"Through the noble mountains and the trees of old,

"Across the icy winds and the freezing cold,

"The brave young crow flew true and bold,

"Singing every tale that he could have told.

"First was of kind Elves, always with something to do.

"Next was of the Vanir, wise, brave and true.

"Of course there were the epics of the Aesir, too.

"And the blessed mortals, with gifts no immortal knew."

It was a riddle of sorts, shared among her people. Only one outsider had guessed the "gift" before, soon to be two. But he was someone she had yet to meet.


	7. Still of the Night

_**Okay, let me start by saying I never planned to write this. But I lost a bet with a friend and this was what she had me do. Perhaps you can take this as an apology for gym being unable to write the new chapters for HeartFrost and Drums & Helfire. I'm not sure how long it will take but I will try to post ASAP. Fair warning, this chapter contains sexual content. It's my first smut-story or whatever you call this so don't judge if its terrible.**_

_**This takes place immediately after the Night of the Wolf in HeartTorn (I skipped it to avoid writing this). Please let me know if it's terrible and I'll take it down immediately.**_

_**Song of the Chapter: Undisclosed Desires ~ Muse**_

* * *

Freyja moaned softly into Loki's lips, tasting the honeysuckles and cinnamon from the wine they had drank. It had been an interesting evening for them thus far and she was beginning to decide just how far they would go. she was drunk on the happiness he brought her, knowing she had found what she had been looking for.

He began to trail kisses up her jawline, sucking on the tender flesh at its base. With steady fingers, she began to untie the leather cord on his shirt. He took a second to pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the floor before returning to his self-assigned task. She took his hands in hers as she guided them to the tie on the back of her dress. He stiffened in surprise, unsure if he should continue.

"Stop to think about this, love," he whispered, his voice slightly shaky.

"I have," she replied as she kissed his bare chest. "And I believe I've finally found what I've been searching for."

"Freyja," he warned half-heartedly.

"I've decided what I want, Loki. The only question I have now is: do you want this, too?"

He took her face in his hands, searching for any sign of second thoughts. Seeing nothing of the sort in her eyes, he smiled.

"There is nothing I want more."

The words had barely left his mouth before her lips were on his once more, tongue exploring the recesses. He growled as she nipped his lower lip and made quick work of the lacing on the back of her dress. The only thing that kept him from tearing the dress from her skin was the fact he knew it was important to her in some way.

With his hands trailing to her thighs, he lifted her up to carry her to the bed. Her legs locked around his waist as her fingers tangled in his raven hair. Laying her back on the bed, he crawled over her and pressed open-mouthed kisses at her pulse as his fingers worked deftly at her corset and chemise. Each tug at the sheer fabric brought more ivory skin into view and Loki took his time to admire the enchanting woman beneath him.

He laid a kiss between her breasts before licking, nipping, suckling each one in turn. The breathless words that fell from Freyja's lips were no longer in the tongue of Asgard, but he understood every sigh. Only when he felt her fingers slipping beneath the waist of his trousers did he pull away.

"No," he breathed, pulling her hands back up. "Allow me to show you what you deserve."

He trailed his fingers over her opening, soliciting a moan as he did. Slowly, teasingly, he slid his middle finger into her. Freyja gasped at the sensation, bucking her hips upward as his index finger joined the first. He grinned before leaning down to flick her clit with his tongue. A shiver ran down her spine and he knew, as he curled his fingers during a thrust, that she was reaching her limit. The cry of protest as he pulled away from her almost caused him to regret his actions.

She stared up at him, her breathing shallow, with wide eyes. Her pupils had dilated, leaving the impossible shade of blue almost unnoticeable. Unable to hold back, he thrust into her in one swift moment. She arched her back in response, closing her eyes as an unfamiliar word escaped her. He captured her mouth against his, kissing in rhythm to the quick pace he had set.

He whispered her name against her mouth as she rolled her hips against him, meeting his every thrust. He reveled in the sensations of her nails digging into his shoulders, her tongue fighting his for dominance, and the mirrored pleasure he could feel radiating from her mind. Their bodies slick with sweat, Loki felt himself nearing the edge.

"_Proicio te, dilectione mea_," he hissed into her ear.

Freyja cried out his name as she came, sending him over the edge as he spilled into her. Her head fell limply against the mattress as she caught her breath, leaving him to pull himself from her and collapse at her side. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer and buried his face in her neck.

"I love you," he whispered, closing his eyes. "My Freyja..."


	8. Similar, Not the Same

_**Look what I found while cleaning out my notebook! It's a little excerpt from "Avengers II: Prince of Shadow". This was the original idea that eventually evolved in Freyja and Renascentia. Eirik was the Prince of Svartalfheim, wandering the realms since the fall of his world. Only his old friend Loki knew that Eirik was actually the cause of Svartalfheim's destruction, which is why he never returned to Asgard. Eventually, I decided this story didn't have enough to it and worked on making the plot a bit more complex. The more I worked, the more I realized Eirik just wouldn't work in the story line So he became Freyja, Princess of the Vanir, and the Renascentia Trilogy was born. However, due to sentimental reasons, I had been working on Eirik's idea for a little over a year, I added Eirik as a back-story character so he wouldn't be lost completely. This little excerpt was the inspiration for Chapter 6 of HeartBound.**_

* * *

Eirik closed his eyes, placing his hands on his knees with the palms facing the skies. Focusing his mind, he projected his consciousness across the distance across the distance that spanned between Earth and Asgard. He brushed past each psyche within the palace in search of the one he was looking for. His target was oddly easy to find.

"Loki," he whispered.

Deep in the prisons of Asgard, Loki heard a familiar voice call his name and looked up in surprise. Before him, shimmering like a mirage in the desert, sat the Prince of Svartalfheim. Loki looked over the prince with waxing curiosity. It had been so very long since he had seen the dark-skinned elf and much had changed him physically. He was no longer a boy growing close to manhood but a world-wearied adult. Very slowly, Eirik opened his obsidian eyes and focused them on Loki.

"Prince Eirik," Loki said with a wan smile. "It has been too long. What reason, pray tell, brings you to grace me with your presence."

"You lied to me, old friend."

The Dark Elf's eyes held no emotion, but his disappointment was clear on his face. Loki wondered idly what it must be like to never feel anger, lust, jealousy, or vengefulness. No doubt he would not be in Asgard's dungeons if he had the blood of the Elves running through his veins rather than that of the Frost Giants. Still, Eirik had told him it was a curse not to experience what others could.

"You seem to have forgotten my title," Loki said. "But you will need to be more specific if I am to understand what you speak of."

"You claimed Midgard and Svartalfheim were alike-"

"I claimed they were similar, Eirik," he replied, cutting his friend off. "I never said they were the same. I thought you would enjoy a realm that bore a resemblance to your own."

"The similarities ease my suffering, yes, but they also cause me pain at the fact that Svartalfheim is lost until the dawning of Ragnarok."

Loki raised his eyebrows, "I thought the mortals might interest you enough to become a distraction. They are quite like your people in many ways. You may not see it on the surface, but dig deeper into their minds and you will see it. You're good at that."

"It is rude to enter the mind of another," Eirik replied.

Loki gave a sigh at his friend's stubbornness, "But you cannot deny the humans are a peculiar race."

"You find my race peculiar?"

"Very," he replied with a chuckle.

"There was nothing – I digress. Despite your belief that there are similarities between myself and the humans, they are terribly flawed creatures. They have neither love nor respect for what has been given and poison their world as you would your enemies."

"Your perspective of me is most flattering," Loki said with a laugh.

Eirik looked mildly confused for the faintest second, "Would that be sarcasm? I was not aware it was used on Asgard. If it is, how is it that I have not heard of it before coming to Midgard?"

Loki raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Your people did not use sarcasm? I can assure you that none of us were aware of that. So, in short, you have believed every word we spoke to be true and everything you have said has been genuine…"

"That is beside the-" Eirik stopped abruptly, his projection flickering as he leapt to his feet and turned to face the wall. "Tony-!"

Eirik's projection suddenly disappeared like a candle blown out. Loki frowned thoughtfully, knowing that the only reason behind the prince's sudden appearance was a loss of concentration. He wondered what had interrupted his friend so suddenly.

"Loki," a different voice said, emanating from behind him.

Loki turned around to see Thor peering in through the bars as if trying to make out something in the gloom of the cell.

"Thor," he greeted venomously.

His not-brother glanced around before gazing at him suspiciously, "There is no one in the surrounding cells."

"Truly? I was not aware of that," Loki spat. "And here I thought I was having decent conversations with my fellow prisoners."

"If they are empty, brother, than who were you speaking with?"


End file.
